


Sweet Addiction

by colorless_earth



Category: MEJIBRAY
Genre: Fat fetish, Food Porn, M/M, Masturbation, Stuffing, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-12 07:56:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11157552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colorless_earth/pseuds/colorless_earth
Summary: MiA has always had a bit of a sweet tooth, but what happens when his love for all things sugary and delicious reaches a whole new level?





	Sweet Addiction

**Author's Note:**

> This story was mainly inspired by MiA's Instagram account. I know I'll probably get a lot of hate because of the nature of this kink, so... let the flames begin. ♪

MiA was running late again as he struggled to get ready for band practice. His morning alarm never went off, and he accidentally ended up sleeping in instead only to wake up a handful of minutes before he needed to be there. Ordinarily it would have been just enough time for him to quickly pull his things together and show up exactly on time if he hurried up, but oh no, not today. Tsuzuku was going to kill him. But invoking the fiery wrath of the borderline vocalist was the least of his worries right now.

You see, there was a problem. A pretty big problem, actually, which involved his now thinly padded waistline and a look of disgust as he watched himself get dressed in the ornate mirror that stood before him. It wasn't that he was fat per se, but the slight shift of weight in the wrong direction was enough to prevent all of his pants from fitting properly. He was already huffing and puffing through his fifth pair of sleek designer jeans when he had to sit down on the edge of the bed and rest for a moment to stop his head from spinning.

"Fuck!" he cursed the discarded garments scattered all over the floor.

The ones he currently wore had managed to just barely slip over his fuller, gently wobbling thighs, but no matter how much he sucked in and pulled the zipper refused to stay up long enough for him to fasten them closed. And to think none of this would have even been an issue if it weren't for that damned Instagram account he had been so eager to create.

It started off innocently as a way to showcase the beautiful desserts he often consumed, but in the midst of wanting to build up his following he went a little overboard. He was frequently overindulging on sugar and he was way too distracted to take care of himself accordingly. When was the last time he exercised, anyway? Memory failed him, but now he was paying the inevitable price of his sweet addiction and it was his own negligent fault.

Suddenly, as a last act of desperation MiA flung himself backwards against the sheets laying as flat as possible, and he almost cried in relief as he hastily tugged at the horribly abused fabric of the jeans once again. It actually worked. The tight squeeze was digging into his skin and nearly suffocating him, but he would live with minutes to spare.

So as to not make his efforts in vain he stood up cautiously, slowly inching himself upwards and almost literally cutting himself in half like a big block of clay compressed around a string. The resulting muffin top was no good, but at the exact same time, he couldn’t help the curious fingers that reached out to grab it. This was probably the heaviest he’d ever allowed himself to become in his entire life, and despite himself it fascinated him. Squishing the supple flesh was much softer than one would initially think.

Further exploration would have to wait for later, if at all he reminded himself, but for now he needed to find a way to gloss over his mistake, and fast. Nobody could know about this. He would never hear the end of it, neither from his bandmates nor his other friends. As he ransacked through the closet he briefly wondered if he even owned a top that wasn’t form fitting, but at that moment he came across what looked to be a plain but seemingly forgiving hoodie he was pretty sure he’d never even worn before. It would have to do. He slipped it over his head and vaguely remembered to detangle his hair a bit with his fingers. Hopefully he didn’t resemble a trash can.

Taking one last glance in the mirror, he resolved in the back of his mind to hit the gym later that day before he grabbed his keys and whipped out the door as quickly as his state of constriction allowed. It was five minutes to ten and the rehearsal space the band rented together was only a fifteen minute walk away.

Once outside he tried his best to run for it, which then turned into sort of a weird hobble of legs and careful dancing of feet to avoid stretching out or ripping the seams. How he managed it, he didn’t know. He surely looked like a lunatic. People stared at him all the way down the street, and unfortunately for him the weather was humid to the point that it felt like the thick material of his disaster cover-up might just be the death of him.

Sweat was pouring down MiA’s face as he arrived at his destination, his hair joining it in a tangled, icky mess as he bent over with his hands above his knees in an attempt to catch his breath. Never again was he going to let something like this happen - not ever. He’d had enough headaches for one day. The others were already gathered ‘round and seemed too busy setting up their instruments to really notice him, except for one particular pink-haired bassist who happened to look over at him.

“You’re just in time!” Koichi stated loudly. “We’re about to start.”

“Out of shape, eh?” Tsuzuku joked over his shoulder.

“Shut up.” MiA managed to laugh. At least the vocalist seemed to be in one of his better moods, and thus totally ignored the fact that MiA was a little more than five minutes late. As long as he kept his self-consciousness in check everything would be fine. Nothing was out of the norm.

His lungs decided to cooperate again, so he automatically moved to go grab his guitars and equipment, but in the process he accidentally bumped into Meto who was trying to carry one of his cymbals over to the drum set, causing it to crash loudly to the ground.

“Oh, shit! Sorry. Hello, Meto.” MiA greeted.

Meto merely grinned with a wave in return then stepped closer as if to whisper something in his ear, but instead brushed a couple locks of MiA’s hair back into place and gave a friendly poke to the belly. MiA blushed. He could already tell it was definitely going to be a long day.

*******

MiA was right. It turned out to be a very long day indeed, and five hours of rehearsal later he was left absolutely exhausted despite having had the extra sleep earlier that morning. Just the thought of working out was too much for him to handle, so in the end he settled for cleaning his apartment in earnest, going from room to room picking up loose ends, folding clothes and organizing spaces until at some point he reached the pantry.  
  
Okay, so exercise was out of the question, but at least he could make trash of the stashes of junk food he knew he had hidden away in there, right? At least that was better than nothing, or so he thought.   
  
It was no use. With all those beautiful sweets laid out on the counter in front of him it felt like a crime to throw so much perfectly good food away. Of course it didn’t help that his stomach began growling halfway through either, and his mouth watered as he stumbled upon a particularly yummy looking package of double chocolate chip cookies, and what harm could just one do, he mused.

The resulting explosion of soft chocolatey goodness in his mouth was enough for him to have a complete foodgasm, and he soon found himself eating not one, not two, but the entire bag of ten luxuriously crafted gourmet cookies. Fuck it, he decided. Why should he have to hold himself back in the privacy of his own home?  
  
Eating had never been so enjoyable before. He felt so naughty, tearing through one dessert after another, practically moaning which each bite he took. He knew he shouldn’t be doing it, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. It was as if the heavens had been brought down to the earth solely for this purpose, and he was stuck there. Every beloved flavor drove him to keep grabbing faster, faster, anticipating what delights would hit his palette next and cramming as much as he could down his throat.   
  
Somewhere in the midst of his trance it occurred to him to pour himself up a fizzy beverage from the fridge, which he promptly chugged before taking a seat for the first time since he started eating and then continuing on with his decadent feast. The fullness was growing to be a little uncomfortable, but his subconscious desire to demolish everything before him forced him to keep going until an abrupt clunk echoed out from underneath him. He didn’t even need to pause to look down to know what happened because he already felt it. The button on his pants had popped off, and the zipper fell down with it.   
  
Pressure emanated from his tummy making it hard to breathe, but in a strange way, he kind of liked it. It was exhilarating and his insides were about to explode at any minute. A blech forced it way out of his system. Just a little bit more, just a little bit more, he convinced himself. He was on the verge of tears from the system overload.

It wasn’t until every container was emptied and every finger licked cleaned that he was finally satisfied, leaning back to calm himself down. For a few minutes he just sat there, content, unable to fully comprehend what exactly he just did, or why for that matter. Without even thinking about it his hands traveled up his thighs landing just underneath his shirt at the taut flesh of his aching belly. He lifted the fabric up and vaguely acknowledged the damaged before throwing his head back.

“Mmnnnghhh...”

God, it hurt so bad. Binge eating was admittedly not the best idea he’d ever enacted. He might as well have been four months pregnant. There wasn’t much of a difference between the two except his baby was made of sugar and food mush. Was that a kick he felt, or just digestive cramps? He couldn’t tell, but whatever it was, it was winning the boxing match.  
  
As much as the pain was close to unbearable, there was a certain sense he couldn’t quite place his finger on that came with it which he couldn’t deny. Never before had he allowed himself to let go from his pretty boy demeanor and act like such an outright pig. Within doing so an unfamiliar rush of excitement flooded over him, not out of pleasure of eating the food itself, although that was certainly part of it, but out of the freedom of knowing he _could_.

No, he had definitely never experienced anything like this before, and it confused him. Why did he enjoy this so much? Every bit of the leftover pieces of thrill seemed to pool down in his groin, awakening a part of him he never even knew was asleep in the first place. He should be ashamed. What the hell was wrong with him? There was too much at stake if he were to continue on this way, not just his health, but the his job that relied on him looking like the perfect shapely prince all the fangirls creamed themselves over on a regular basis. What would they think if they saw him like this?  
  
The longer his train of thought went on, the more turned on he became by the whole scenario and the curiosity-infused side of him still ragingly desired to explore every new squishy part of his body. He could picture it so clearly in his head as he used a firm but gentle pressure with his fingertips to rub small, deliberate circles into his skin to aid his discomfort. They would probably first gasp in shock, but would then murmur their disapproving words in a flow of hushed voices, eventually leading to taunts of fattie and whale. Yeah, because he truly was a glutton. That soft belly and those juicy thighs weren’t there for nothing.

And suddenly he found his tortured jeans to be much too uncomfortable, reaching down as best as he could to pull them off completely and tossing them wherever. One hand moved up to resume massaging his protrusion while the other rested on the outer part of his thigh, experimentally pinching and kneading the new marshmallow fluff which cushioned them. A soft moan escaped his lips. Maybe it was just the food chemicals messing with him and altering his perceptions, but he was flying high on it. Surely he was losing his mind.  
  
He was so much more wobbly, he noticed. With every movement he could feel himself subtly jiggling, and oddly enough, it made him feel all the more warm inside like a non-intrusive caress. Oh fuck, it was so hot. MiA gasped as he rubbed the heel of his hand over the half-hard member straining against his underwear. With the other he slowly rolled his nipple between his fingertips, teasing it into a hard bud, and then switched to the other side, heart racing. Even his chest was noticeably affected by his weight gain. He wanted more.   
  
His hands kept grasping, wondering, feeling, encountering the softness but yet yearning for more to hold onto and mess with. What would it feel like to put on another five kilos? Or twenty-five? Fifty? Possibly a hundred. At what point would he become the human embodiment of the Pillsbury Doughboy, so helplessly big and fun to play with that everyone would gather around to have a turn? Would he even be able to walk, or would somebody have to serve him from his bedroom?   
  
Better yet, what would his bandmates think of him? He’d never hear the end of their incessant teasing. Maybe they’d even slap him on his gelatinous ass, bursting out in laughter as the wiggling waves of fat shook down him.

MiA shoved a hand to his painfully hard cock, curling his fingers around it, imagining the pure humiliation of the fantasy and stroking faster with every breath, every little noise. There was no going back now. He was so close. The chair creaked and protested beneath the force of his weight, which added an element of danger. Was he really so fat that it might break? He shut his eyes and moaned, the mental image of crashing down to the ground burning a whole new fire on its own.  
  
He alternated between spanking his flab and lightly fondling his balls, tightening the grip on his cock dripping with precum. If only someone else actually were around catering to his every need. His stamina was waning like the little out of shape piggy he was, arching his back as he gasped for air, balls tightening... and then he came hard, shooting his seed all over his stomach, a few extra droplets hitting the counter.   
  
MiA bit his lip, still breathing hard as he gradually relaxed. That was amazing, consequences be damned. He dazedly grabbed a few napkins from its holder to clean up as best as he could. He had officially reached a new point of exhaustion he didn’t think was possible. It was as if he were made of jelly and he could barely move, so he settled for scooching closer and leaning forward onto his arms on the counter, lying his head on the makeshift pillows.

The task proved to be a tad more difficult than it should have been, and it took a bit of calculated shifting until his expanded belly was angled in a way that wouldn’t be weirdly in contact with the hard granite surface, but at last he was finally able to close his eyes, falling deep into a blissful food coma.

_My diet starts tomorrow..._

**Author's Note:**

> 2017/10/18 - This story hasn't been abandoned, I promise!


End file.
